


You Only Hear The Music When Your Heart Begins To Break

by neontearsjpg



Series: The Lesbian Cynthia Cinematic Universe [1]
Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Agent Curt Mega Has ADHD, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, First Kiss, Getting Together, Love Confession, Multi, Pining, Rated Teen for swears, Sharing a Bed, and there was only one bed, basically they both go missing, biblical imagery because i'm gay and a whore, but until then it will suck, each chapter title is from a different musical because i suck, not explicitly stated but it’s important to me a bitch with adhd, one of the other agents is a reference if you get it i will love you forever, susan doesn’t know what gender is, there will be a happy ending don't worry!, tws in end notes, well. kind of. like for a bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25627114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neontearsjpg/pseuds/neontearsjpg
Summary: Both Curt and Owen go missing after the mission in the Russian weapons facility. Cynthia navigates the aftermath.
Relationships: Cynthia Houston & Agent Curt Mega, Cynthia Houston/Mrs. Mega, Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Series: The Lesbian Cynthia Cinematic Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078526
Comments: 100
Kudos: 97





	1. Flowers Bloom Until They Rot And Fall Apart

**Author's Note:**

> TWs in end notes!! Pls enjoy :)  
> Title from "The Kids From Yesterday" by My Chemical Romance  
> Update 8/2: added TWs in the end notes because I forgot one

Cynthia was going over the Moscow files for what felt like the millionth time. Carvour undercover, Mega as a fake hostage, get the blueprints, get out. Easy, simple, routine. They’d done similar missions dozens of times. They could do it in their sleep if they had to. 

But, still she was nervous. She always was when she sent Curt out. It was a bit better when Owen was there, of course. He was the brains of the operation. Curt was the beauty, and together they made the brawn. They worked together so well, it was no wonder that they-

Cynthia flinched as an unpleasant memory forced itself into her prefrontal cortex. God, sometimes she wished she _had_ stayed with the church when she took the job. It certainly would’ve made some decisions easier to make. 

She was startled out of her pondering as her door was flung open and a very distressed Susan was suddenly standing in front of her.

“Ms. Houston! The mission in Moscow went south. Briefing upstairs in two minutes.”

“Jesus Christ… what did those boys do this time?”

“That’s the thing, ma’am. We’ve lost contact, and the facility just exploded.”

“Shit. Clear my schedule for the rest of the day, Susan.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

\---

“What do you mean we can’t have a task force on the ground yet?”

“Ms. Houston, please calm down. We’re working as hard as we can. It’s late over in London and not everyone is in MI6 headquarters right now.”

“Well get them in there then! We need to find Mega as soon as fucking possible.”

\---

“I’ve never had to sign a budget approval for an investigation before.”

“Protocol changes, ma’am. Part of the new Pentagon guidelines for this year.”

“Fine, whatever. Just bring Mega home.”

“We’re working on it. You should try and get some rest ma’am, you’ve been working hard at this all week.”

“I’m _fine._ Just get these to the god damn treasurer before he is ‘feeling faint and has to go home’ for the third fucking day in a row.”

\---

Cynthia collapsed in her chair as she re-entered her office. The past week had been a fucking _nightmare._ Mega and Carvour were MIA, the A.S.S. was being unusually stubborn when it came to dolling out resources, and she had just left a meeting with one Caroline Mega, Curt’s mother. It had gone, well, horribly. 

Caroline was both beside herself and extremely accusatory, if that was even possible. Cynthia had tried to assure her that they were doing the best they could, but with the way she had been obstructed at every turn, she couldn’t tell Caroline that while keeping eye contact. What _was_ the agency’s problem? Mega was their best agent, why weren’t they spending first and asking questions later, like they did for Eisenhower a few months ago? When _he_ went missing, the only thing they were worried about was how many treaties they were breaking. 

Cynthia took a deep breath. She was being ridiculous. Of _course_ it would be harder to find missing agents in Russia, it was a whole lot bigger, and they had less diplomatic power there. 

“Coffee, ma’am?” Susan had somehow slipped in without her noticing. Maybe she _did_ need to rest.

“Sure, Susan. You know how I like it.” She put her elbows on her desk, burying her head in her hands. “Thank you, Susan.”

\---

“Are you telling me that our _best agent_ has been missing for _two-and-a-half weeks,_ and you only _just now_ notified the FBI? The people that _investigate_ things like _missing agents?"_

“Ms. Houston, it’s not that simple, we had to file a formal rep-”

“Bullshit you did! You couldn’t even, you know, _inform the director_ so that when the report _did_ go through he already had a plan?”

“Sorry ma’am, it won’t happen again.”

“I sure fucking hope it won’t. Now get out of my office.”

Cynthia was so fucking tired. Things had somehow only gotten worse since her meeting with Caroline. More paperwork, more miscommunication, more _fucking bureaucracy._

“Susan, sometimes I wonder why I don’t just quit.”

“Because you love our country, ma’am?”

“Guess that’s as good of a reason as any. Bring me some tea, will you?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

The door clicked shut as Susan left. Cynthia still didn’t know what she would do without her assistant. Definitely would’ve quit a long time ago, that’s for sure.

\---

There were very few things that Cynthia Houston loved.

One was the gratification of learning that a mission succeeded. Nothing could beat the look on some higher-up’s face as the plan they said wouldn’t work went off without a hitch. 

Another was hot drinks. The hiss of coffee burning her tongue, or the way that a nice warm cup of tea tea comforted her that she would never admit to anyone.

The third, she was realizing, was Curt Mega.

She really hadn’t realized it until it was time for their monthly meeting. 3:00 rolled around, and she suddenly found herself inexplicably missing something. She checked her desk, but everything was where it should be.

“Susan, what day is it?”

“Tuesday, September 5th, ma’am.” Oh. That was it. 

“Bring me some tea, would you?”

“Certainly, ma’am.”

As the door clicked shut, the dam broke. Before she knew it, a single tear was rolling down her cheek. She thought about Curt sitting in front of her, looking incredibly small in his chair despite the fact that he was at least 4 inches taller than her, and had an extra 50 pounds of muscle. She would rip into him in those meetings, and he would always have some smartass thing to say back. It was endearing, really. She would always end the meetings the same way: 

“Be careful Mega. We need you.”

She awoke from her reverie to find Susan standing in front of her, tea in hand.

“Is everything alright Ma’am?”

Cynthia let out a sigh that was dangerously close to a sob. 

“What if... what if he’s dead, Susan? What if they killed him? What if he’s frozen on the side of some road somewhere? What if he got shivved by some skinhead when he got too affectionate? God, Susan, what if he’s dead?”

She was crying freely now. She felt Susan move behind her and place a hand on her shoulder. 

“He’s not dead, ma’am. He’s out there somewhere, and you’re going to see him again.”

Cynthia patted the hand on her shoulder. “Thank you Susan.” 

“Of course, ma’am.”

\---

Despite what Susan said, there was no sign of Curt Mega to be found in the coming weeks. Cynthia started bringing her flask to work, spiking her coffee when she thought no one was looking. The combination of whiskey and coffee was less than ideal, but honestly, she couldn’t bring herself to give a shit. She came to work each day feeling too much, and by lunch she was numb, and that was what mattered.

\---

She remembered the day she found out like it was yesterday.

The agency had bugged their room in Paris, just a routine loyalty check. The footage had arrived at the agency the same day Curt did. He was going through debrief downstairs when Stoker had burst into her office, vhs tape in hand. 

“Watch this immediately. Mega will be in your office when he’s done with debrief. Deal with him as you see fit.”

 _Deal with him as you see fit._ At the time, Cynthia had had no idea what he meant. Had he been caught shit-talking the agency again? That was nothing new, just a slap on the wrist for him. But Stoker had had something else on his face. A mix of disbelief and disgust. It chilled her to the bone.

She popped the VHS into the TV in the corner of her office. It flickered for a moment before showing the A.S.S. logo along with a confidential seal. Then it flickered and she was looking at a hotel room. And there, on the bed, were Mega and Carvour, indulging in each other as Eve had indulged in the apple, an act of defiance against God, an act of compliance with her heart.

Cynthia fell back into her chair. 

_Oh._

She picked up the phone and called downstairs, trying desperately to keep the tremble out of her voice.

“Hey Lottie, how long until Agent Mega is done with his debrief?”

“About five minutes, Ms. Houston.”

 _Shit._ Not enough time to do anything except try and think.

“Thanks, Lottie.”

She took a deep breath. It came out shuddery. What was she going to _do?_

She knew what the agency wanted her to do. Take him out back, make him look out at the sea, and plug him in the back of his head.

But she couldn’t do that. He was the best they had, possibly the best they'd ever had. And more than that, he was a friend. A colleague. A fellow agent. And more than any of that, he looked happy, defying God on her TV screen. He looked genuinely happy, like if he were walking he would have a literal spring in his step. She couldn’t remember a time he had looked like that, maybe ever. There was no way she could take that away from him. But she couldn’t act like she hadn’t seen anything either, or God knows Stoker would be more than happy to take him out back.

She turned the tv off. She would simply show him the tape and allow him to explain himself, and try not to cry.

A soft rap came on her door as it opened.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Well, Stoker wanted you to see me, but come in anyway. Sit down.”

“What’s the scoop, Houston?” He flashed that cheeky smile he had whenever he thought he was funny.

She took a deep breath. Holy shit, this was hard. 

She clicked the button on her remote, turning the tv on. 

Curt turned toward it, attentive as ever. 

Then he broke.

Cynthia saw it happen in slow motion. She could practically hear his thoughts as they flashed across his face.

 _What is this supposed to be? Oh. It’s me, isn’t it? Oh God, it’s us. Oh God, she’s gonna kill me, isn’t she? Oh God, she’s gonna kill Owen, isn’t she? Why the fuck didn’t we check for bugs? Why the fuck did we decide that getting together was a good idea in the first place? Why couldn’t I just be normal? This is all my fault. _ _**This is all my fault**. _ _Owen’s going to_ _die_ _and it’s_ **_all my fault_ ** _._

Cynthia saw him spiraling and quickly clicked the power button on the remote, turning the TV off. 

“Cynthia, I can expl… I can’t, can I?” He sounded so small. “God, I’m so fucking sorry. For everything. For lying, for sneaking around, for being a _fucking fag-”_ his voice broke before he could finish the word. Cynthia silently counted her blessings. If he had, that would’ve broken her.

“God Cynthia, just fucking kill me already, just get it over with.” He was on the floor now, tears flowing freely. “ _Please, God,_ just _don’t hurt Owen_ , I’ll do anything, he doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve _me_ , he deserves to be _happy_ and _safe_ and-”

“ _Curt Mega!”_

He sat on his knees on the floor, trembling, his hands clasped together in front of him. Cynthia tried not to think about God.

“I am _not_ going to kill you.”

“ _W-what?”_

“In fact, I am going to suggest that the agency provide a full cover-up and destroy the tapes. And I am going to suggest that you check your hotel room for bugs from now on, even if the agency books it.”

“Cynthia… _why?”_

“I don’t believe that personal relationships like these impede your ability to do your job. If you prove me otherwise, I will have to reconsider.”

Before she knew it, Curt was around the desk and in her arms.

_“Thank you.”_

\---

It was 3:08 on October 5th when Susan burst into her office. “Meeting in 2, ma’am. I’ll brief you on the way up.”

“Tell them I’ll be late.”

“It’s about Agent Mega, ma’am.”

“...let’s go.”


	2. If I'm Not Missed, I Don't Exist, That's The Greatest Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia is tired of being nice. She just wants to go ape shitt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs in end notes! I've added chapter titles, if you get this one you're a bad bitch

There was a small click as a tape recorder whirred to life. “Meeting of October 5th, 1956. Regarding the status of… current affairs.” The director of communications set the tape recorder onto the table in front of him, clearing his throat to call attention.

“I’ve called you all here to inform you that we, along with MI6, have decided to officially change the status of Agents Curt Mega and Owen Carvour from MIA to deceased.”

Cynthia was glad that Susan had briefed her in the elevator. Still, she felt something akin to a sob form in the back of her throat that she had to make a conscious effort containing. There were grumbles all around the room as the communications director paused before continuing.

“This was not an easy decision to make.”

A voice came from Cynthia’s left, somewhere between a mumble and a snicker.

“Bullshit. Glad he’s gone. Too much of a liability.”

_ What?  _ What the fuck was he talking about? Mega was the best agent in the service. Before she even knew it, Cynthia had opened her mouth.

“Stoker, is there something you want to share with the board?”

“As a matter of fact,  _ Cynthia _ , yes there is.” Stoker sneered at her, but she stood her ground. She was tired of taking bullshit from all these men.

He continued. “I said, I’m glad he’s gone. He was more trouble to keep alive than the value he provided.” Cynthia bristled. “Plus, his, er, lifestyle, well, it wasn’t exactly something the Service agreed with or wanted him… participating in.”

Another voice came from her right, in a tone so full of hatred that Cynthia felt her hackles raise. “Fucking faggot. Should’ve killed him as soon as we found out.”

Cynthia’s back stiffened. So  _ this _ was what it was about. Why, for 6 months, she had been put up against so much bureaucratic bullshit instead of the resources she needed to search for Mega. She realized she was starting to see red, and tried to calm herself down. Then, she paused, and considered what good that would do. Cynthia Houston, bowing to the will of men yet again. Cynthia Houston, all bark and no bite. Curt would’ve strangled that motherfucker by now, bless his heart. 

She let her anger boil over, simmering into a quiet rage. “What did you just say, Baker?” Keeping the tremble out of her voice, she tried to remember how to sound calm.

“I said, he was a fucking faggot, and we should have killed him as soon as we found out what he was doing with that twink bastard Carvour.”

“You’re talking about the two best agents in the world, Baker. They’ve saved countless lives, including your own once or twice, if I recall correctly.” Cynthia had moved now, standing in the middle of the arc of tables. She tried to remember if she decided to stand, and only remembered the click of her heels against the tile floor as she moved.

“Better dead than have to touch that  _ freak _ ,” he muttered, and instead of dissent, Cynthia could now hear the grumbles of the board, a mix of noncommittal grunts and mumbles of ‘he’s right’ ricocheting around her brain like bullets in a steel room. 

“Are you fucking  _ serious _ ?” The room fell silent at that, the only sound being that of the still-whirring tape recorder. She hadn’t meant to have said it so loud, or for them to be able to hear the way her voice broke at the end.

“I’m getting real fuckin tired of you all, you know that? All you ever fucking do is sit around these rooms, jerking each other’s dicks from 9 to 5 every day and then go home to your wives and tell them that you saved the world. You know who was really saving the world?  _ Curt Mega _ . He was putting his life on the line for his country every single fucking day, and all any of you bastards ever wanted to do was find a way to get rid of him. The most prolific agent in the  _ world _ ! And here you are, sitting around this table, acting like his blood isn’t on your hands when it’s your fault it took a  _ month _ to send a search party out for him.”

“Cynthia, you know we have limited resourc-”

“ _ Bullshit!  _ When Eisenhower went MIA in Spain we had him back within a week. And that was without help from any other agencies. Between us and MI6 it should’ve taken 5 days to find those boys and bring them back. But of course it didn’t, because it finally provided the perfect excuse to abandon him! And for what? Because you didn’t like where he stuck his dick? 

“I have to listen to you mother fuckers brag  _ every single day  _ about how many ‘bitches’ you fucked on a mission.  _ I  _ never say anything about that, even though it’s the most  _ disgusting  _ thing I’ve ever heard. You wanna know why? Because it’s not my  _ fucking  _ business. As long as you complete the objective, you’re fine. But if  _ this _ is how we’re treating people we don’t approve of, then I have a fucking  _ message  _ for  _ you. _ ” 

Her voice was getting hoarse at this point, but she ignored it. She didn’t think she’d be alive much longer anyway. 

“Every single person in this room  _ disgusts  _ me. All of you are fucking  _ horrible  _ excuses for human beings, and I can’t believe you’ve been trusted with the fate of the  _ fucking world _ . Every time a mission goes south, I hope you think about how Mega would’ve done it right, and that his blood, and the blood of all the casualties of botched missions, is on your _fucking_ hands. I’ll be in my office.” 

She stormed out of the room, desperately trying to keep her tears from falling before she got into the hall. She stormed down to her office in a manic state, half-expecting a bullet to embed itself in her skull at any moment. 

She finally made it to her office, collapsing at her desk. The adrenaline started to wear off, and her fury gave way to despair, as her body shook with quiet sobs. Well, fuck. 

She was going to die. That much was certain. But, hell, what a way to go. Her only regret was leaving her pistol in her office. Some of those motherfuckers deserved a bullet right between their eyes. 

She took her flask out of her pocket. Might as well go having a good time. She took what should’ve been a huge swig, but only got a few drops. Shit. Well, now was as good of a time as any to break out the emergency vodka. She upended the bottle into her throat, like the communion wine she’d relished as a child. A similar haze washed over her, though now it was more a relief rather than a joyful buzz. She drank the blood of the covenant, though she no longer knew who it was with. 

Her door creaked open and she shut her eyes, letting out a sigh. “If you’re here to shoot me, get it over with.” 

A familiar voice rang through her ears as something was set in front of her. “On the contrary, ma’am. I thought you might like some tea.”

Cynthia opened her eyes, not even trying to give a smile. “Thank you, Susan. Hope you don’t mind me ruining it with vodka. Would you like some?”

“Honestly, ma’am, I would, if it’s okay with you.”

“Of course it is, I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t. Have a seat.” Cynthia pulled out a glass and filled it. “Here.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“So, Susan, how did the meeting end?”

“I didn’t stick around much longer than you did, ma’am. I just took the tape and left. No one said a word.”

“Susan, that’s amazing. Cheers. I'll drink to that.”

“Thank you, ma’am. It was the least I could do.”

Cynthia took another hearty swing from the bottle as Susan took a sip from the glass. 

“God, Susan, why are you here? Why aren’t you making yourself a fake passport and getting the hell out of here? You’re my assistant and you took the tape, you’ll get punished for this as much as me.”

“Honestly, ma’am? You did what needed to be done a long time ago. I’m not afraid to stand at your side, not for anything. You always ask me why you don’t quit. I haven’t quit because I believe in you.”

“You shouldn’t. I just cursed out the entire board. I’m not fit for this, much less for anyone to believe in me.”

“On the contrary, ma’am. We need more people like you here. People who are willing to go against the grain for the greater good.”

“Well, there’s about to be less people like me here.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“You’re one person.”

“I’m literally your bodyguard.”

“That’s fair.” Cynthia took another drink, relishing the fire burning down her throat and rising in her chest. God, she was a fucking mess.

They sat like that for a while, drinking in silence. It was comforting to have someone looking out for her, Cynthia thought, even though she had already accepted her death. She thought about what she did to get her here. Where she had decided that Curt Mega’s life was more important than hers. 

\---

To be honest, it wasn’t long after she met him. He had stumbled into the med bay after a mission, slashes across his torso from some bastard’s attempt at torture. She had been called down, being his supervisor. Seeing him laid out on the bed like that, gritting his teeth as he was stitched up, stirred something in her that she couldn’t quite name. 

He had given her a cheeky grin as she walked in. 

“Hey boss. How’s it going?”

“I could say the same to you, Mega.”

“Oh, I’m doing fine. Just a scratch or two.”

The nurse chucked at this. “Oh honey, I’ve put over 50 stitches into you so far. You are definitely not fine.”

Cynthia tended to agree. “How did you get into this mess anyway, Mega?”

“Some idiot thought the best way to get information out of me was to let me bleed out until I was delirious. Even if I wanted to tell him the intel, I was too delirious to even form proper words.”

“And, pray tell, how did you get out of this mess?”

“Training, boss. Gathering all the energy I could, faking unconsciousness, making my escape.”

“That training is for a punch upside the head, not losing three quarts of blood.”

“Well, what can I say? I guess I’m a fighter.” He winked, and flashed another lopsided smile.

Cynthia rolled her eyes at this. “Get some rest, Mega. And don’t disrupt those stitches.”  _ And take care of yourself,  _ she thought. 

\---

“What are you thinking about, ma’am?”

Cynthia sighed. “The moment I decided Curt Mega’s life was worth more than my own.”

“Excellent use of your time, ma’am.”

“Are you being sarcastic with me, Susan?”

“Not a bit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: Homophobia, Homophobic Slurs, Alcoholism, Suicidal Ideation/Accepting Death, Character Injury (not graphic just some slashes)  
> As before, comments and kudos will make me love you forever!! Thanks for reading :)


	3. Are You Really In The Ground? 'Cause I Feel You All Around Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Men plan. A woman cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's so much projection in this chapter... yes I am gay  
> Shoutout to cass for helping me come up with the Mandatory Biblical Metaphor for this chapter and for beta-reading it because I cannot think sometimes  
> Enjoy!!!! I had a lot of feelings writing this  
> TWs in end notes as always

Curt woke up on a concrete floor. Not an unfamiliar experience, but not a pleasant one, either. He had insisted on sleeping in shifts, even though Owen had said they were completely safe. He just couldn’t bring himself to let him out of his sight.

He groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

Owen turned around. “Morning, love.”

“What time is it?”

“Around 8:30.”

Curt scrunched his face for a second as he sat up, doing math in his head. 

“Hey! You took a longer shift than me!”

“I wanted to let you sleep.” Owen smiled cheekily.

“You should’ve woken me up.” 

“It’s fine, love. You needed the sleep.”

“You need sleep too!”

“I’m used to it.”

“Well, you have to take the first shift tonight.”

“Fine.”

Owen offered his hand, helping Curt up. Once he was upright, Curt pressed a light kiss to the back of Owen’s hand. “Thanks for the help, babe.”

“Shut up,” Owen said, but he was smiling.

“What’s the plan for today?”

“There’s a safehouse a bit away from here. We’ll take a cab, pay in cash, get dropped off a mile away. Then we need to take stock of our IDs and passports, figure out which ones to use to get to America without raising any alarms at MI6 or the A.S.S.”

“And remind me what we do when we get there?”

“Revenge.” Owen cracked a smile, pressing a kiss to Curt’s cheek. 

“Wonderful.”

\---

Cynthia hadn’t left her office in 5 days. 

Not by her own volition, of course. If it was up to her she would’ve marched up to Stoker by now and put her forehead on the barrel of his gun. But Susan wouldn’t let her leave, and wouldn’t let anyone in. Cynthia was both grateful and guilty for the protection. She felt like Daniel in the lions’ den, cast into a pit for an act against the law but loyal to his beliefs. Susan was the angel sent down by god, keeping the lions at bay, though Cynthia couldn’t think of any god that would find her blameless.

Susan had been ordering delivery food, telling Cynthia to lock herself in the bathroom while the food was being retrieved. They’d had a few close calls, but Susan had always come back in the nick of time, somehow both saving the food and kicking the ass of whoever was sent to get retribution. As for drinks, the break room always had both water and some kind of alcohol, both of which went missing during the night. Hand-washing clothes was a hassle, but the office was designed for staying overnight, so Cynthia had clothes and a shower, as well as any amenities she needed. She slept on a cot, Susan slept sitting against the door. 

Susan had managed to swipe a coffee pot and a tea kettle from the break room, although Cynthia mostly wanted tea these days. If Susan noticed Cynthia’s changing taste, it wasn’t mentioned. 

They ate together, most days. Susan would talk about the office gossip, Cynthia would offer her opinion. Cynthia would curse the agency, society, the world. Susan offered open ears and comforting words. They talked and talked and talked, stories of love, hate, anguish, heartbreak, missions barely saved and missions that ended in tragedy.

Cynthia would lie awake crying sometimes, and Susan would be there, a comforting presence that didn’t require her to talk about it. Cynthia felt undeserving of such kindness.

One time she asked. “Why are you doing this for me? All of this. You could turn me in and be discharged with a healthy sum of hush money. Why protect me?”

Susan sighed. “I care about you, and what you believe in. You’re the only person that has treated me with respect here. The only reason I was hired was because I was the sharpest shooter in my trial, and it was some requirement that I get a spot or something. No one liked me, until I was assigned to you. 

“I think it was intended to be a punishment, assigning me to the harshest supervisor, letting me get torn to shreds until I quit or killed myself. But when I walked in and introduced myself, you didn’t say anything about my appearance, my voice, everything that was yelled at me from down the halls during training. You just handed me paperwork to take to the treasurer, and that was the nicest anyone here had treated me. 

“I kept waiting for it, for a while. A slur casually tossed my way, a comment on my voice, but it never came. And I saw the way you treated others. You were harsh, but you cared. You were harsh  _ because  _ you cared. I saw the mercy you treated Mega with, and I saw a life for myself within it. 

“You showed me there was kindness in the world, there was hope, there was love. It’s only fair that I repay you for that.”

Cynthia had been crying for a while at this point. 

“You’re a special one, Susan, you know that right?”

“If you say so, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Curt and Owen are alive!! They are also angry  
> I literally did not plan the susan monologue at all i just went into a trance and it poured out of me which was wild but here we are  
> I listened to if it's true from hadestown while writing this entire chapter so that's why everyone hates the bourgeoisie so much (also because theyre gay)  
> Comments and Kudos are loved as always as well as guesses of which musical the chapter title is from!!
> 
> TWs: Suicidal ideation/Accepting death, Workplace harassment, Implied transphobia, one of the characters is in mortal danger all the time, eating mention


	4. I Will Look Out For You, We'll Light Each Other's Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys sleep in shifts again. Cynthia makes a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter pops off so hard man,,,  
> Listened to flowers from hadestown while writing most of this so that's the vibe,,, sadness and loss babey  
> Thank you to Lars from the SAF server for helping me come up with this chapter's Mandatory Biblical Imagery, they're a fucking genius  
> TWs in the end notes as always!!

Curt was watching the door. 

Owen had said that the safehouse was secure, but Curt still relived the moment that he woke up and saw Owen’s body beside him, unmoving, and the all-consuming despair that washed over him. He couldn’t let that happen again. He couldn’t bear it.

He checked his watch. Owen said to wake him up at 7, but it was now 7:30 and Curt was feeling generous. He would let Owen sleep a little longer. They had a long day ahead of them anyhow.

\---

“Shit. Caroline doesn’t know.” Cynthia had shot bolt upright in bed, startling a sleeping Susan.

“I knew I was forgetting something. Damn it, damn it, damn it!” She quickly picked up the phone. “Wait. What time is it in Guadeloupe?”

“They’re 12 hours ahead of us, ma’am. It should be the afternoon.”

“Thank God. I don’t want to startle her.” She dialed Caroline’s number, listening to the automatic operator’s message about international calls.

“Strange that they haven’t disconnected my phone.”

“Honestly, I don’t think they thought of it, ma’am.” 

Cynthia chuckled. “That’s fair.”

The phone finally started ringing. It connected after two rings.

“Hello?”

“Hello Caroline, this is Cynthia Houston from the American Secret Service.”

“Oh hello dear! How are you today?”

“Fine. It’s been a rough week.” Cynthia was trying her hardest to keep the quiver out of her voice. She wasn’t doing very well.

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong?”

Cynthia tried to speak, but all her lungs could provide was a choked sob. She tried again.

“The agency has changed the status of Curt and Owen from MIA to deceased.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

There was silence for an endless moment. Then the most gut-wrenching cry Cynthia had ever heard, even through her desensitizing training. It was both anguish and despair, pain and misery. 

The dam broke. “Caroline, I’m so, so sorry.”

Caroline’s voice was small. “Why him? Why  _ my  _ boy?”

“I don’t  _ know!”  _ Cynthia instant regret was palpable. Why was she yelling at a mother who just lost her son? “I’m so sorry, Caroline. It’s just so much right now. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m sorry.” She didn’t know if her words made sense between her sobs.

“It’s okay. I know how close you two were.” Caroline sounded like she was crying too.

“He… he was like a son to me. I loved him.” Cynthia could barely speak above a whisper.

“I’m sure you were a better mother than I ever was.” The regret in Caroline’s voice was palpable. “I should’ve looked after him more. I should’ve raised him better.”

“That’s nonsense, Caroline. You were an amazing mother. I’m the one who abandoned him-”

A yell came from outside the door followed by a thud. 

“What was that? Cynthia, sweetie? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just another agent trying to kill me.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story. Don’t worry, Susan’s got it handled.”

“Cynthia, honey, why are they trying to kill you?”

“I kind of cussed out the entire board of directors. I’ve been barricaded in my office for the past week. Susan’s taking care of me.”

“I’ll catch the next flight to DC.” Cynthia could hear the caretaker in Caroline take over.

“You really don’t need to-”

“Yes I do. You’re in danger and you’re hurting and I can help. I can book my own flight. I’ll be there as soon as possible.” She had clearly made up her mind.

“Okay, be safe. Call me when you get in, and we’ll figure out how to get you here.”

“Okay honey. See you soon.”

\---

6 hours later, the phone rang. 

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Cynthia?”

“Yes.”

“Oh thank goodness. I was afraid that I remembered the wrong number. I’m at a payphone a few blocks away from headquarters, what do you want me to do?”

“Come to the front door. Susan will come and fetch you.”

“Won’t that leave you defenseless?”

“I have a gun. I’ll be fine for a few minutes.”

“Okay sweetie. See you in a bit.”

\--- 

There was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

Susan’s voice came through the door. “It’s Caroline and me, ma’am.”

Cynthia practically sprinted to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open as quickly as she could. 

There, in front of her, were the only people left in the world that cared about her. It was enough to make her tear up all over again.

“Hey Cynthia! It’s so good to see you!”

“Hi, thank you so much for coming, you really didn’t have to-” Her voice broke and she trailed off. 

“Aww, honey, come here. It’s okay. I got you.” Cynthia had practically fallen into Caroline’s arms. “It’s okay. You can cry. I’m right here, baby. It’s okay.”

Cynthia clung to Caroline as Ruth had clung to Naomi. She made the same silent promises that Ruth had made aloud, promising to stay by her side forever, no matter what. She recalled something an older girl in her youth group had said that had always stuck with her, shortly before the girl was exiled for ‘unholy behavior.’ “Ruth loved Naomi as Adam loved Eve.”

Wait. Shit. Oh shit. Shit shit  _ shit.  _ She stiffened under Caroline’s embrace.

“Are you alright, sweetie?”

“Yeah, just need to go to the bathroom.” She sprinted towards the bathroom, leaving a confused Caroline in her wake. She locked the door and turned the fan on before vomiting her lunch into the toilet.

Oh. So  _ that’s  _ why. Why she never had a boyfriend that lasted longer than 3 months, why she never ‘settled down,’ why she never felt the same way when her friends talked about their crushes, then their boyfriends, then their husbands. Why she never quite felt  _ the same,  _ in an indescribable way. 

Cynthia Houston was a lesbian. And she was very, very much in love with Caroline Mega.  _ What The Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE!! THERE ARE NO CISHETS IN THIS HOUSE!!  
> I'm sorry the cowen segments are so short I don't want them to get ahead of the cynthia timeline. the next one will be longer i promise  
> I thought of this chapter title after I previewed the chapter so sorry it sucks a little bit  
> Sorry if the phone call is weird? I had a lot of trouble with it  
> I'm running out of musicals to pull chapter titles from so I guess i'll have to listen to heathers and spring awakening again  
> NEVERMIND JUST REMEMBERED TOUCH ME FROM SPRING AWAKENING WE ARE GOOD  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!! also i will love you forever if you talk about the plot and try to guess what's coming up!!! 
> 
> TWs: Slight internalized homophobia, vomiting, A mother losing her son


	5. We’ll Wander Down Where The Sins Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt remembers the first time him and Owen had to share a bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to mc for impromptu beta reading and justyn for researching british slang for me :)  
> This was way longer than I expected it to be so only curt pov for this chapter :( which means no biblical imagery because curt has no catholicism-related trauma :)  
> I hope u enjoy!  
> TWs in end notes as always!

“It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?” Curt had confirmed that the cab driver couldn’t speak english, but he still spoke in a semi-hushed voice.

“What is, love?” Owen looked over at him expectantly. 

“We spent so much time dreaming about faking our deaths and going off the grid, and now that we have a chance to do it, we’re marching straight back to headquarters.”

Owen let out a chuckle. God, Curt loved seeing him smile.

“I guess you’re right, love. It is a bit funny.” His hand moved to cover Curt’s as his expression turned serious. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Curt grinned. God, he loved this man so much. “Of course. There’s only two things left on my bucket list: marrying you, and beating the absolute _shit_ out of those bastards.”

\---

They’d made it to the next seedy hotel on their trek back to civilization. The owner raised an eyebrow when there was no reaction to the fact that they only had one-bed rooms left, but an extra bill across the table kept him from opening his mouth. They made their way down the hall to their room, tucked in a corner away from the entrance, as per request. As they settled into the room, Curt thought about the first time they’d had to share a bed on a mission. 

\---

Their respective agencies had had “suspected homosexuality” on both of their files for a long time, and since you get your partner’s file upon pairing, they’d had an unspoken understanding from the beginning. Owen was certainly more open about it than Curt, at least in the way he dressed. As Owen himself once described it, he dressed like ‘an Italian twink on the run from the mafia.’ Curt laughed way too long at that, just to see Owen’s eyes light up. Owen let him. 

They’d always been a bit flirtatious, especially on missions. A hair ruffle here, a sarcastic eye roll there, smirking at each other from across the ballroom. Curt had found his face inches from Owen’s far too many times to count. But that’s all that it was. Flirting. Curt made himself believe that. How could Owen, confident, cocky, eloquent _Owen_ , like _him_ , clumsy, slow, messy Curt?

But sometimes, sitting at home alone, or drifting away on a long flight, he let himself dream. Dream of a world where they were together, and they were happy, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Dream of holding Owen in his arms, of letting Owen hold him. Imagining what it would be like to run his fingers through his hair for hours on end, sitting in a chair by the fire.

Which is why, when they opened the door to the room in Denmark, Curt’s brain turned off. When it turned back on, Owen was asking which side he preferred to sleep on, like this was something he had done a million times. Curt searched his face, and found a sarcastic smile plastered over- was that _nervousness?_

“I- uh- I prefer the left.” He didn’t know, honestly. He hadn’t shared a bed with someone in approximately 10 years. 

“Alright. Guess I’ll put my things on the right side, then.” Owen moved over to the right side of the room, a bit too quickly.

They went through their nighttime routine in silence, but not a comfortable or tired one. This one was charged with electricity, so much that Curt felt that if he reached out to Owen there would be a spark between their fingers. 

Eventually, there were no more curtains to close, no more teeth to brush, no more showers to take. They both slowly, gingerly climbed into bed, and Owen turned off the lamp without saying a word. Curt, having worried himself to exhaustion, went to sleep almost immediately. 

He had awoken at exactly 3:36 AM. He’d stared straight at those red numbers, frozen in place as he slowly realized that oh, there were definitely arms wrapped around him. 

Owen must’ve felt him tense, as he mumbled something adjacent to ‘relax’ before tucking his face into Curt’s shoulder. 

Curt, contrary to advice, did not relax. He laid there, stock-still, for ten minutes. Eventually, he decided to extract himself, to escape to the bathroom to try and collect himself. Owen was surprisingly stubborn for a sleeping man, gripping onto him with all his strength. But Curt had always been bigger, so he managed to wriggle out of his grasp and dash to the bathroom, closing the door as quietly as possible before turning all the lights on and running the faucet to cover the sounds of him hyperventilating. He splashed a hearty amount of water on his face before sinking against the wall. 

What the fuck was going on? Was Owen playing some kind of joke on him? That couldn’t be it. The way Owen clung to him didn’t feel like a man pulling a prank. Was he dreaming? No, he could feel the water dripping down his face onto his bare chest. So, what the fuck was going on? 

Curt took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts so he could come up with a plan, a reason, before hearing a voice, muffled by the door.

“...Curt?” Curt froze again. “...come back to bed, love.” There was sleep in Owen’s voice, but there was also a genuine wanting and softness that Curt knew all too well. 

Curt took a deep breath. There would be no coming back from this. No surprised jumping apart in the morning. He grabbed a hold of the door handle, throwing out a silent prayer to whatever god would still hear it, before clicking the bathroom lights off and opening the door.

“Ah, there he is, the man of the hour.” God, Owen looked beautiful like this, half asleep and beckoning towards a Curt-sized space beneath the covers. 

Curt felt a yearning envelop his senses, too strong to be pushed down to the back of his mind like he’d been doing for years. Instead of fighting it, Curt finally gave in, giving himself up to every nerve in his body, all of them screaming to _fucking touch him already_.

He walked over to the bed, letting out a sigh of wonder. He climbed back into bed and let his arms settle around Owen’s waist, where they had always meant to be. Owen’s hands clasped around the back of Curt’s neck, and he looked at him so intensely that Curt could feel his face turning bright red.

Owen cupped his face with his hand, grinning. “You’re really quite adorable, Mega, you know that?” Curt had to avert his eyes at this, choosing instead to trace the lines of Owen’s collarbone until they were burned into the insides of his eyelids. Owen brushed his thumb over Curt’s cheek before continuing. “I’m surprised it took you this long, honestly.”

Curt looked back up in confusion. “Took me this long to what?”

Owen sighed, bringing his other hand up to card through Curt’s hair. “Ever since I laid eyes on you at the briefing for the Munich mission, I knew we were either going to end up getting ourselves killed or risking a dishonorable discharge due to ‘lifestyle choices’ before we had a chance to retire. I quite liked you, Curt. Even from the start, when you were an asshole to me to cover up the fact you thought I was the best thing since sliced bread.” Owen chuckled at this, and Curt felt the vibrations through his arms. He closed his eyes, soaking in the moment. Curt felt like if he died right at that moment, he would be at peace. 

Owen gave him a tap on the nose. “Hey, prettyboy, are you paying attention? I’m in the middle of sharing my feelings, you twat.” Curt eased his eyes open and mumbled something along the lines of ‘-m listening!’ This seemed to satisfy Owen, and he continued. 

“First time I saw you with an unbuttoned dress shirt and messy hair, breathing heavily on the ground beneath me, I was so distracted I almost forgot how to tie a tourniquet. You really made quite a vision in that moonlight. And as I helped you back towards the pickup point, I made the executive decision that I would stay by your side as much as I could. I couldn’t tell you that, though. You would’ve combusted. So I tried to show you. Insisting on small missions that were just the two of us. Dressing your wounds that you were perfectly capable of dressing yourself. Always defending you in front of supervisors, even when I was wrong. Entering every room first. That wasn’t cockiness, that was me making sure you got hurt as little as possible.” Owen pushed a lock of hair out of Curt’s eyes, and wiped away a tear that he hoped Owen couldn’t see. 

“So when I say I’m surprised it took you this long, I’m saying I’m surprised it took you this long to figure out that I love you.” Owen’s eyes were searching Curt’s face, a hint of desperation in them that he had never seen before. 

“Oh God Owen, I love you so much. I always have.” Curt could barely believe the words coming out of his mouth. He was really telling _Owen Carvour_ that he loved him, and _Owen_ had said it _first?_

He felt Owen’s hands move to mirror each other on the sides of Curt’s face, and then he was being pulled and then oh God, Owen was kissing him. 

it took a solid 5 seconds for his brain to stop going _Owen Owen Owen Owen Owen Owen Owen Owen_ so much to actually kiss him back, but he brought his hands up behind Owen’s back and pulled him closer, and oh _God_ that was good, he didn’t know kissing could feel this good, it was like heaven, it was like a thousand tiny sparks were erupting on his skin wherever Owen’s body touched his, and-

“Slow down there, prettyboy. Some of us need to breathe.” Curt let out an involuntary whine as Owen pulled away. He tried to pull him back, but Owen compromised by putting their foreheads together. 

“When’s the last time you kissed someone, love?”

“Not for work? Uh… 9th grade?”

“Jesus Christ, Curt. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” Owen smiled mysteriously. “Well, we have a flight tomorrow, so might as well get to sleep.”

“We can sleep on the flight,” Curt said. “We’re in first class.” He smiled back, proud to have won the obvious setup. 

“By God, Curt, you’re right! Well, I suppose we should get on with it then.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth.” Curt pulled Owen close again.

\---

“Owen?”

“Yes, love?” Owen turned to look at Curt, pausing his unpacking. 

“Remember the first time we shared a bed?”

“In Denmark?” Owen gave him a cheeky grin. “That was definitely a night.”

“It was more of a morning, actually. I remember: I woke up at exactly 3:36 AM.”

“How romantic of you, Curt.” Curt could see the look on Owen’s face without turning around. 

“Thanks, babe. I try my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fucking BLASTED touch me from spring awakening while writing the flashback and that’s why it’s written so well  
> my computer broke so updates will be slower for a bit  
> i wrote most of this on my phone so my apologies in advance for formatting issues, i’ll fix them when i get on a computer  
> Thank you as always for comments and kudos!! I busted my ass on this chapter so
> 
> TWs: Implied homophobia, Workplace discrimination


	6. All My Secrets, You Would Learn Them, All My Longings, You'd Return Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia thinks about her experiences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of trouble with this one yall.  
> Stared at a screen for 4 hours before I started writing, took me another hour to actually get into flow.   
> Projecting onto minor characters is hard because you can't just look at other fan works for inspiration on how to characterize your protagonist. yes i did bring this upon myself  
> Anyways despite my struggles I'm proud of this one! It was definitely a marathon compared to the sprint of last chapter.
> 
> TWs in the end notes as always!

Cynthia was not doing well.

To be fair, she hadn’t been doing well before, but she was now decidedly doing worse than she was before.

Susan had stolen another cot and mattress from god knows where, so at least Cynthia didn’t have to deal with sharing a bed, except she woke up sobbing that very night and Caroline insisted on pushing their beds together, so yes now she  _ did  _ have to deal with that. Thankfully, Cynthia had passed off her late-night crying session as Normal Grief instead of the horrible realization that she was in love with a woman who had flown all the way from  _ Guadalupe _ to live in a  _ single room _ with her and now she had to come to terms with all her trauma and unexplained experiences being suddenly dumped on her at the same time.

She was reminded of Eve and the apple. As she had fallen into Caroline’s arms that night, she had bitten the apple, her world suddenly filling with horrible, wonderful knowledge, forbidden and treasured, vile and rejuvenating. There was no snake to lure her into taking the bite, just the awful, awful ache in the pit of her stomach that seemed to open a bit wider every time Caroline spoke, threatening to swallow her into an oblivion of unknown sin.

Cynthia was thinking about God a lot lately. Not in a helpful way, mostly just cursing His name for her current situation and thinking about all the feelings she felt that her pastors would’ve scolded her for feeling. Not like repenting was going to save her now, anyway. She was pretty sure God didn’t help people who defied Him so much they made a career out of it.

They were eating dinner the day after Caroline arrived. Susan and Cynthia had settled into their usual positions, before realizing there was a third person in the room. Susan kindly pulled the other chair up to the desk and moved over to give Caroline room. They ate in silence, Cynthia trying to pretend her pizza tasted like anything other than drywall and regret.

She snapped back to awareness with a hand on top of hers.

“Cynthia, are you doing alright?” Caroline was looking into her eyes, worry painted across her face.

“...yeah, just not that hungry.” Cynthia quickly moved her hand away before her brain decided to get any ideas.

“You looked like you were spacing out for a bit there, sweetie. Stay with us, okay? We gotta get through this together.” Caroline insistently moved her hand to where Cynthia’s now lay and gave it a squeeze and a pat before returning to her pizza, and a conversation with Susan that Cynthia now noticed had been going on the whole time. 

Cynthia’s hand still tingled from when Caroline’s had laid atop it, but that wasn’t that much of an epiphany, now, was it? Nevertheless, it still had her reeling in a way she was unaccustomed to. 

Cynthia remembered when Owen and Curt had first been paired together, and she was briefing them for the Munich mission, and Owen had patted Curt’s hand while reassuring him that he wasn’t  _ that _ stupid or something along those lines. Curt had looked like his head was spinning in a similar way to how Cynthia’s was now.

She remembered going to a gala with them a few months later. Owen would trail his hand along the small of Curt’s back and mumble ‘sorry, love’ as he squeezed past them to mingle with various diplomats, a smirk ghosting its way across his face before disappearing from view. Curt had looked like he was trying very hard not to explode.

Had she always known? Sure, it was shocking to see it on tape, but hadn’t she known well enough already? The loaded looks they gave each other that she pretended to not notice, their restless hands sitting too close to each other on a table, the unusually fond tone of Owen’s voice when it came through Curt’s radio frequency. Perhaps she knew it all along, and just didn’t know how to interpret what she was seeing. Obviously, she knew the agency’s policy, and the general public’s opinion, but it was  _ different _ when it was in front of you, staring you in the face, stealing kisses behind your back, bringing joy back to the face of a man you considered family, a joy you hadn’t seen since you handed him his acceptance letter. How could anyone call that wrong? How could anyone call that sinful? How could anyone call that immoral? 

Curt’s voice wormed itself into the back of her head. 

“ _ Thank you.” _

He had wrapped her in his arms, sobbing and trembling and so, so full of love to give. How would it have played out if their positions were reversed? She would’ve been angrier, sure, but would she have asked anything more than for her lover to be spared? No. She would’ve accepted her death, lined her forehead up with the barrel of the gun. But how would Curt react, in the face of this situation? 

She already knew. She didn’t want to know it, but she had known it all along.

He would have swept her into his arms, promising safety and protection from anyone who came her way. He would’ve comforted her, would’ve asked what he could do, would’ve asked if she wanted to talk about it.

God, that man loved too much. He gave love to everyone, even those who didn’t deserve it. He pulled Stoker out of a smoking pile of rubble mere hours after Stoker had called him a faggot to his face. He cracked jokes, he made sarcastic remarks, but he always lit up a room. He had truly believed that everyone had his best interest at heart, even when they tried their best to show him that they didn’t. He would make thank you cards for the nurses that helped him through broken bones, brought cake for the janitorial staff that mopped up his blood when he stumbled down the hall to deliver a file to Cynthia before collapsing onto her carpet instead of going straight to the med bay like any sane person would. 

Would Curt have forgiven her? No. Curt would’ve said there was no sin to be forgiven for. Didn’t she owe him that much? To love herself as he would’ve loved her, as she loved him, unconditionally and eternally, in spite of everything. It was the least she could do.

\---

“Curt told me about the incident in France, you know.”

They were lying in bed, trying to let sleep come despite dreading what it would bring.

“What about it?” Cynthia turned her head to see Caroline staring at the ceiling, her eyes sparkling.

“He called me after he got out of that meeting with you. He told me about everything that happened, about the tape, the blackmail, the thinly veiled death sentence. He told me how kind you were, how impossibly understanding you were. How you had given him a renewed hope for the agency, that if there were people like you there, it couldn’t be all bad.” Caroline took a breath, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

“It was that moment that I realized you loved him the same way I did.”

Cynthia was crying now, too. Caroline finally rolled to face her, cupping her face with her hand, light as a feather. 

“You are the bravest woman I know.” Her face was full of conviction, and Cynthia’s inhale was shaky before she let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

“I’ve been hiding in my office for a week, Caroline.” She gave her a small, sad smile.

“Doesn’t matter. You were there for my boy when no one else could be. You spared his life when no one else would, and then you jeopardized your own to defend his honor.”

“Well, that second one might have been a little selfish. I hate those bastards, every one of ‘em.” Cynthia chuckled at that, a genuine one this time.

“I wonder what they think of us right now. A supervisor gone rogue and a disowned agent’s mother, sharing a bed in a barricaded office.” Caroline gave Cynthia a look that was utterly indecipherable to the normal human brain, much less one that was short-circuiting the way hers was. 

“They’re probably jealous.” God, why did she say that? What the hell was she even talking about?  _ Jealous?  _ Really?

But Caroline was laughing, a real, content laugh. Her thumb rubbed lightly over Cynthia’s cheekbone, and before Cynthia's brain shut down from experiencing such a loving touch, the last words she heard were “I’m sure they are, sugar. I’m sure they are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia Houston is having a time... love that for her  
> My writing for caroline is all over the place so apologies for that  
> This one, again, was a bitch to write, and I couldn't find any music to evoke the right emotion, so you don't get a bespoke playlist to listen to while reading this one, sorry  
> Extra bonus points to anyone who gets this chapter title source song!!  
> I know my capitalization when referring to god is extremely inconsistent but it's just the vibe okay just trust me  
> As always, comments and kudos are so fucking appreciated
> 
> TWs: Internalized homophobia, homophobic slurs, blood/injury mention, minor suicidal ideation


	7. You, And You, And Nothing But You, Miles And Piles Of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt commits a crime. Cynthia commits a sin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was done completely on my phone so apologies in advance for the formatting  
> I drank a huge coke at 11pm and banged this one out  
> sorry in advance  
> TWs in the tags as always

Curt woke up to a gentle shake on his shoulder.

“Curt, love, wake up. The breakfast bar opens in ten minutes, we need to be packed by then so we can grab food and go.”

“It doesn’t take me ten minutes to pack my bag, babe.”

“I know how you get. I’ll go check us out, then I’ll come get you and we can get food.” Owen pressed a quick kiss to Curt’s cheek before leaving the room, heading towards the front desk.

—

They entered the dining room at 6:10 AM. Owen was right, Curt did take a while to pack. Nonetheless, they were some of the only people in the dining room this early. They went through the line quickly, grabbing food and coffee before moving toward a table to get their things in order before heading off. 

As they walked toward the back of the room, a burly man with a shaved head, clearly hungover, spat a word at them in disgust. Curt didn’t know the literal translation, but he’d had it hurled at him enough times to know what it meant. He took a step in the man’s direction before Owen put a hand on his arm, silently conveying  _ not here, not now.  _ Curt sighed and kept walking, focusing on the carpet so he didn’t snap and cuss the man out. 

They got to an empty table and sat down, shoving snacks for the road into their backpacks. Owen quickly downed his coffee while trying to keep a grimace off of his face, while Curt stewed in the corner, barely taking sips.

They got up to leave, and Curt took the lead, taking their path closer to the man. Just as they were approaching him, Curt tripped, completely tumbling into the man, spilling his coffee on him in the process.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir!” Curt spoke in russian, but put on the best American accent he could muster this early in the morning. “My deepest apologies.” In the resulting confusion, he patted the man down. Where was it, where was it, where was it? He felt a bulge in the man’s jacket pocket.  _ Gotcha.  _ He quickly got up and walked out, sending one more apologetic glance over his shoulder. Owen followed dutifully behind, trying his hardest to look both sorry instead of amused and thoughtful instead of confused. 

As they stepped out into the parking lot Owen turned to Curt. 

“I’m all for a bit of karmic retribution, love, but is this really the best time?”

“Oh, that one wasn’t for revenge, honey, although it felt just as good. That was for these.” He pulled something out of his jacket pocket, shaking it in front of Owen’s face.

“Good lord, Curt, you snagged his keys? You were on him for ten seconds.” Owen looked both impressed and a bit incredulous.

“I always was the better pickpocket.” He gave Owen a smirk. “Come on, let’s go find out what kind of car a fuckwad like that owns.” 

Owen chuckled. “Alright, but you’re driving the first shift.”

“It’s only fair, I’m the one who stole the keys.”

\---

Cynthia woke up to a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

“Cynthia, wake up sweetie, breakfast is here.”  _ Fuck _ . 

Everything she said last night came back to her at once. Caroline’s hand cupping her face, her thumb rubbing light circles into her cheekbone until she fell asleep. The touch had turned from electric to comforting, a kind of tenderness she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Her heart stirred solely at the memory, and she tried to act normal as she sat up. Caroline was wearing a look similar to the one she had on her face the night before, but now Cynthia recognized it as one she had seen Curt’s face a million times. She still couldn’t decipher what emotions lay behind it though. Her brain wasn’t functioning  _ that  _ well yet. 

“Wake up, sleepyhead. Susan brought us bagels!” Caroline must’ve been a morning person with the amount of enthusiasm she had this early. Wait, what time  _ was  _ it? She looked over at the clock. 8:30. She hadn’t slept that long for... since the meeting. 

Well. That was a development. She pushed it to the back of her mind. She would unpack her sleep schedule  _ after _ a bagel. 

\---

“Wait. If Susan was out getting breakfast, who was watching the door?”

Caroline gave her arm a playful slap. “I was, silly!” Cynthia gave her a look. “What? I know my way around a gun! Plus, it was so early, I don’t think anyone was in the mood for killin’ before their morning coffee.” 

Cynthia actually laughed at this, a real laugh. Huh. She was laughing more recently. Something else to unpack later. 

\---

It was the lull of the afternoon. Time to unpack things, nothing better to do. 

Why did she get such a good night’s sleep?

Easy. Caroline was there.  _ Wait. Easy?  _ Was her brain really that obvious now? Cynthia shook her head slightly, moving on to the other item on the docket. 

Why was she laughing more often?

Easy. Being around Caroline made her happy.  _ Well. That  _ one’s a bit less surprising, at least. 

How were these two events connected? 

Easy. Caroline. That one didn’t surprise her at least. just another indication of how fucked she was. 

\---

Cynthia had had a good day, by all accounts. She had slept well, eaten well, and not died. So why the hell was she on the verge of tears?

She was laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying her hardest not to cry. Caroline didn’t need her crying two nights in a row. 

God, Caroline. How was she so perfect? Always there for her, always saying just the right thing, looking at her with that  _ look _ , the one she had seen on Curt so many times, the one she still couldn’t figure out. She turned onto her side, letting out a sigh. It came out shaky. She tried again, and it was a choked sob.  _ Shit.  _

“Cynthia? Is everything alright?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m-“ She very obviously was not. No use in hiding it. 

She turned to face Caroline. “I just… I don’t know why I’m crying? I had a good day, I ate, I had a good night’s sleep… I just don’t get it.” 

Caroline reached out, pulling Cynthia closer to her chest, running her fingers through her hair. Cynthia melted under her touch, immediately feeling herself relax. 

“Oh honey… it’s okay. You’re okay.” Cynthia felt guilty, receiving affection like this without Caroline knowing how she felt. 

“You… I…” How could she possibly say it? 

Caroline pulled back. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything.” She curled her arms around Cynthia’s waist. God, she wanted this so fucking bad. 

“I… I think I’m a lesbian-“ she barely choked the words out before clamping her jaw shut. Why did she have to ruin everything? “God, I’m sorry, forget I said anything, I-“

“Cynthia.” Caroline brought one hand up to cup Cynthia’s face, while the other wrapped tighter around her waist. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’ll sleep on the floor from now on, I just realized it like two days ago and I’m having a hard time processing, I-“

“ _ Cynthia.”  _

Caroline reached up to wipe a tear away. She had that look in her eyes again, the same one Cynthia had seen in Curt’s so many times. God, where was it from? What did it mean? 

Her face was suddenly very close to Caroline’s. When did that happen?

Caroline was even more beautiful up close. Cynthia reached up towards her face, moving her hand with the intention of cupping her cheek, until she realized what she was doing and stopped, her hand hovering in the air. 

She looked in Caroline’s eyes and  _ oh.  _ That’s where she had seen that look before. She had seen it in Curt’s eyes so many times, a sideways glance, a stare across a room, a sly wink, but only ever for one person. Owen. 

She must have gasped, because she felt Caroline’s arm tense around her waist. 

“Caroline, I..” God, she was hard with words.  _ What if I just... _

And before her brain had finished the wish her body had fulfilled it and  _ Oh. This  _ is what it’s like. Wait. Shit. What was she doing? Caroline didn’t want this. She pulled away, saying a thousand apologies with her eyes because her mouth had decided to stop working. But then Caroline’s arm tightened around her waist and her hand gently latched into her hair and Cynthia’s world exploded into a million fireworks. 

She reached out, grasping for anything, linked her arms around Caroline’s ribcage and pulled and she  _ drank.  _ The wine was sweet and full, and she drank enough for the whole congregation, and it was so  _ good.  _ She finally understood the phrase  _ getting drunk off of sin _ , though if she was a sinner, she pitied the saints. 

She finally pulled away when she realized she was still able to drown, no matter how powerful she felt. She let out a small laugh, more of an exhaled smile. Caroline did the same. 

“Cynthia Houston, you are full of surprises.”

“It seems I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LETS GO LESBIANS  
> ok i actually have a bespoke hadestown playlist for this chapter:  
> Curt POV: papers (instrumental)  
> Cynthia Day POV: Come Home With Me, Wedding Song, and Promises  
> Cynthia Night POV: Flowers  
> i am now officially running out of musicals to pull chapter titles from please help!!  
> Comments and kudos are so appreciated!! ilysm  
> i should be getting a new computer soon so please bear with my infrequent updates and my shitty formatting thank you
> 
> TWs: Homophobia, Internalized homophobia


	8. How Long Shall We Two Wait, Before We’re One?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt drives. Cynthia awakens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again! sorry for dropping off the face of the earth, i had horrible writer’s block. This is also not beta’d at all, so apologies for any horrid errors, i’ll fix them later, maybe. TWs in the end notes as always, I hope you enjoy!

Curt was speeding down the highway. 

“You know, Curt, there’s really no reason for you to be driving so fast.”

“It’s fun, babe!” Curt winked over at Owen. He gave an eye roll in return.

“It’s childish.”

“Hey, you’re the one who told me to drive. Put up or shut up.” Curt gave Owen’s arm a playful punch. Owen tried to look displeased, but he couldn’t keep a smile from his lips. 

Suddenly, there were lights flashing behind them and the sound of a siren.

“Shit. Fight or flee?”

“Fight. If we run they’ll send more.”

“Fair point. Do you want to do the talking or should I?”

“Judging by this morning’s performance I think it’s my turn, love.”

“Be my guest.” Curt pulled over to the side of the road, the police car pulling up behind them. They both stepped out of the vehicle. 

The officer stepped out of his car and strode over to them. He spoke perfect russian, with a thick accent. 

“Do you know how fast you were going?” He looked impatient, antsy. 

Owen shrugged, then tried his best russian accent. “Actually, sir, I don’t, sorry.” Curt stifled a laugh at that. 

The cop looked displeased. “Is something funny?”

Curt quickly spoke. “No, sir, sorry, sir.”

“Fine. I will have to fine you for speeding.” As he glanced down at his notepad Curt heard that word again, the same one that was hurled at him that very morning. He clenched his fists at his sides.  _ Don’t need to fight a cop today.  _

When Curt looked up, Owen was striding towards the officer. Before Curt could wonder what the hell he was doing, Owen threw a solid right hook straight into the cop’s face.

“Jesus! What are you doing, Carvour?”

“You heard what he said. I’m tired of this shit.” He cracked his knuckles as the cop stumbled backwards, clutching his now broken nose.

“Well, shit, Owen, give me a warning next time, i’ll keep the car running.” Curt quickly walked over to the officer, braced his hands on his shoulders, and gave him a ruthless knee to the crotch. “I hope that sterilizes you and you never get to procreate.” His russian probably wasn’t perfect, but it got the point across. “Come on babe, let’s ride.”

“Alright, but I’m driving. We’ve reached our daily limit of government employees we can beat up.”

\--- 

Cynthia woke up in someone’s arms.

It felt so calming that it took a moment for her brain to kick into panic mode. She tensed, opening her eyes. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead. I was wondering when you were gonna wake up.” Caroline was smiling back at her, and the events of the night before came rushing back. 

“G’morning.” Cynthia’s voice was soft and full of awe. 

“Susan’s out to get breakfast. I decided to wake you up so that I could get out of bed to defend us if need be.” Caroline cracked a smile, carefully extracting herself from the bed. “Feel free to go back to sleep for a bit, honey.”

“No, I think i’m up now. Kind of up, at least.” She got up, gathering a blanket before settling herself into a pile on the couch. 

Susan entered the room, carrying toast with jam, as well as the week’s tea bags. 

Cynthia managed to extract her arms out of her blanket and took a plate gratefully. “Thank you, Susan. You’re an angel as always.” 

If Susan noticed the change in Cynthia’s demeanor, or the events of the past 24 hours for that matter, it wasn’t indicated, except for a slight nod that could be interpreted as just a simple acceptance of a thanks.

Caroline retrieved her own plate before approaching the couch. “Room for two in there?”

Cynthia blushed. “I believe so. It’s a pretty big blanket.”  _ That was a dumb thing to say. She knows it’s a big blanket. _

Caroline unwrapped the blanket nonetheless, placing herself right against Cynthia’s side before carefully wrapping them both back up. 

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Susan extracted an envelope from a back pocket. “Caroline, Barb gave me this along with this week’s tea. She said it’s for you.”

Caroline reached out for the envelope, careful to not disturb the careful wrapping of the blanket. “Aww, isn’t that nice. Thank you, sweetie.”

She carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the card that was inside. She leaned against Cynthia, moving so they could both see the card.

It was a handmade card, construction paper and markers. The front of it read ‘You are loved.’ 

“Aw, isn’t that sweet!” She opened it. On the inside of the card were a bunch of tiny hearts, drawn in red, pink, and purple marker. There was a message as well. 

“Dear Mrs. Mega,” Caroline read, “I am so sorry for your loss. I want you to remember that you are loved, and you will get through this. We’re all here for you down here. Don’t give up! Love, Barb Larvenor.” 

Caroline put a hand to her heart. “Aw, well isn’t that just the sweetest thing! Susan, honey, tell Barb thank you very much the next time you see her.”

“Will do, ma’am.” Susan took the regular post by the door, ever vigilant. 

Caroline turned to Cynthia. “I’m so lucky to have people like this by my side.” The sincerity in her eyes sent Cynthia’s heart fluttering. 

She blushed. “I mean, I’m not that special.” She cracked a small smile. How could Caroline just say things like that casually? Did she know what it did to her?

Caroline slapped her arm playfully. “Oh, hush. You’re the most special of them all.” She laid her head on Cynthia’s shoulder. 

Cynthia wasn’t sure whether her pastor would agree, but she was certain that sitting like that, with the woman she loved taking refuge in her presence, she had found heaven. She tilted her head to rest on top of Caroline’s, closed her eyes, and sighed. Maybe she could sleep for just a bit longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACAB! Fuck 12!  
> Cynthia deserves comfort!!  
> Barb exists and loves people <3  
> The chapter title is mega obscure i’ll give a firm handshake to whoever gets it (no cheating!) Sorry again if this sucks, i had horrible writer’s block and i started this chapter because i was mad at cops.  
> Comments and kudos are appreciated as always!!!
> 
> TWs: Speeding, Police, Punching, Kneeing someone in the crotch


	9. Do You Know? All I Want Is You.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt commits multiple crimes. Cynthia is told a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was kind of a doozy to start but once I got going it flowed and i’m really proud of it. Thanks to ja in the SAF server for reading my shit to make sure I didn’t make any grave errors.  
> If you know the source material from which i pulled Curt’s fake names i will give you a smooch if you want  
> TWs in the end notes as always! Enjoy!

They’d finally reached the airport. The easy part was over. 

“What should we do with the car?”

“Just dump it here. By the time it’s reported abandoned or found by the cops our prints will be gone.” Owen opened his bag. “Got the right passports on you, love?”

Curt pulled out two passports from his bag. “Jürgen Litener, from Sweden, and Gerard Keay, from America. In that order, correct?”

“Yes. We fly from here to Stockholm, and from there to D.C. If all goes as planned, we’ll have a two-hour layover in Sweden to get food.”

“Are our agency bank accounts still active?”

Owen pulled out a wad of cash. “Have a couple thousand crowns left over from the Stockholm mission.”

“Owen Carvour, what would I do without you?”

“Die, probably.” He cracked a smile before pulling Curt in for a quick kiss. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

—

Curt thought getting through customs would’ve been harder, but he and Owen quickly fell back into the rhythm of bureaucracy that came with international travel. They worked flawlessly, cutting through lines and twisting their way through security checks. 

They met up once they had both gotten through. 

“How was your experience, love?”

“Guy doing my pat-down almost got my gun. Had to do the ol’ coughing fit to get out of that one.”

“Aw, that’s too bad. I made it flawlessly, as always.” Owen smirked. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re built with sticks and i’m built with stones.” He playfully punched Owen’s shoulder.

Owen grasped his arm in mock pain. “Careful, love, you’ll break my fragile stick bones.”

“Oh, shut up, Carvour.”

—

Cynthia, despite her circumstances, was having a good time. 

Sure, she was being hunted by many of the american secret service, and sure, she had been locked in her own office for bordering on 2 weeks now, but she, against all odds, was doing alright. 

She could credit this success to one Caroline Mega. 

The last few days had been bliss. Wake up in Caroline’s arms, eat breakfast with Caroline by her side, snuggle with Caroline on the couch, gossip with Susan and Caroline at lunch. Her sleep schedule was the best it’d been in years. She was eating well, and she was relying less and less on caffeine. And even when the caffeine withdrawals hit hard, she took a nap on Caroline’s lap. It was the closest she’d been to happiness in a long time, maybe ever. 

It made her sentimental sometimes, how a person could change not just how you treat the world, but how you treat yourself. She had realized that she was deserving of love and comfort, and it was an epiphany. Love thy neighbor had never meant anything to her in the past, she treated herself the way she treated others, with discipline and harsh expectations. But now, thanks to everything, she had learned to love herself, and therefore the people around her. 

Except Stoker. Fuck that bastard. Some people weren’t deserving of the profound love she had to give.

-—

“Caroline?” Cynthia had her head laid on top of Caroline‘s, which was resting on her shoulder. They were relaxing after dinner, wrapped in a quilt. 

“Yes, sugar?” Caroline removed her head from Cynthia’s shoulder to face her. “What’s on your mind?”

“How did you know that you were gay?”

“Well, it was a combination of things.” Caroline thought for a moment before continuing. 

“I first liked a girl in 6th grade, I think, although I didn’t know it at the time. I just thought I was jealous. But then it happened again in 9th grade, and by then I had heard about lesbians. It still took me three more years before I really connected it to myself, two of those with a child in tow. 

“I won’t deny that I thought I loved Elias. He was one of those ‘bad boys’, the ones the girls in movies were always getting with. I was young, dumb, and in denial, and everyone knows that’s a deadly combination. Luckily, I escaped it with nothing but a few cuts and bruises and one very angry man going out to spread rumors about me for the rest of his life. 

“You know, some people like to claim that gay people are the product of gay parents, but I tried my damn hardest to raise Curt to be as straight as a board. It wasn’t the best time. A constant reminder of my mistakes and failures and sins stared me in the face every day, and I was supposed to care for him. It caused a whole new wave of repression, a lot of it probably projected onto Curt. 

“By the time he moved out, I was worried sick for him. I had seen the signs, the same ones I’d exhibited at his age. I didn’t want him to go through what I did, but all I could do was send him over to the secret service. They wouldn’t let him become what I was, they would raise him to be the smart, upstanding, companionate,  _ straight  _ man that I needed him to be. 

“Then he bought me a safehouse, and I moved to Guadeloupe. I met a woman there, a woman like me. She showed me how loving women was meant to be, pure and true and  _ right.  _ She honestly changed my life. 

“That was my turning point. I realized that loving and receiving love allowed me to love myself, and by extension, everyone around me. Next time Curt came to visit, I told him everything. About me, about him, about us, about the way we were. He cried in my arms that night, tears of relief and compassion and surprise. I knew i couldn’t fix all of his inner turmoil by myself, but at least I could offer him some reprieve. 

“When he called me up to let me know he had been assigned a new partner, a nice young man from MI6, we both knew what he was saying. I congratulated him, and the joy in his voice was palpable when he told me he ‘felt like they had a lot in common.’ 

“Wiretaps are bastards, but the motherfuckers in communication headquarters can’t possibly interpret a man overjoyed at the prospect that he was no longer alone in his differentness. That he, against all odds, had a chance at finding love. I cried that night. Tears of joy and gratefulness that whatever god was still up there was looking out for my boy.”

Caroline was crying a bit now as well. Cynthia reaches up a hand to wipe away her tears. 

“I know. I miss him too.” Cynthia pressed a gentle kiss to Caroline’s forehead. “I’m so glad he was able to love while he had the time.” 

“Me too. But now we have our chance.” Caroline cupped Cynthia’s face, pressing a light kiss to her lips before leaning in to press their foreheads together. “We have the rest of our lives, however long they may be.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LETS GO GAYS  
> i listened to papers (instrumental) from hadestown for the airport scene because it has those vibes  
> I hit up wedding song for the first part of the cynthia storyline as well as all i’ve ever known  
> i’m really proud of caroline’s monologue i’m not gonna lie when i first introduced her as a lesbian i thought it wouldn’t work but i’m really glad it turned out   
> As always comments and kudos are so much appreciated and loved!!! Also this one should be relatively easy but guess the show the title is from!! (i totally didn’t think of it at the last minute despite never seeing the show)
> 
> TWs: Internalized homophobia, Implied domestic abuse, Bad parenting (?) as a result of trauma


	10. Look Out World, That Would Be Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curt and Owen fly to D.C.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one’s so short i’ve been busy with school and stuff  
> next chapter is gonna be the climax of the story babey!!!!! that one will probably take me a while as well so i wanted to get this one out to tide y’all over  
> no TWs for this one boys just some spies being gay!!!

The layover in Stockholm was going wonderfully. Their flight had landed at 2 AM local time, ahead of schedule, which Owen was quite pleased about. They’d had no glances and no hassle getting themselves checked in, and they were now sharing coffee in the airport’s atrium, staring out at the dark sky. They were the only people in the atrium, having gotten their coffee from a stand near the gate they landed at. Curt gazed out at the large glass wall, and the atrium all around them. An airport, usually bustling with activity, now completely empty. He could still feel the buzz of the people that had walked the floors hours before, filling the room with life. To be in the bubble of warmth in the cool atrium, with Owen, sipping their coffee, it was an otherworldly experience. 

Owen spoke, bringing Curt out of his reverie. “I’ve always found it quite pleasing, being in airports at odd times.”

“What, with all your brooding?” Curt smirked at Owen, though there was no malice behind it.

A look of mock incredulity crossed Owen’s face. “I do  _ not _ brood, Curt Mega! I simply think things through quietly, instead of talking it through out loud like you Americans do, with no regard for the people around you.”

“Hey, that’s not an American thing, that’s a me thing. And you’re the one who gazes at me lovingly while I do it, so you’re in no position to judge, Carvour.”

Owen rolled his eyes. “Whatever makes you feel better.”

\---

The flight was surprisingly empty. It wasn’t a particularly large plane, probably the smallest commercial plane that could still make it over the atlantic. Curt didn’t know, Owen was the one with the machine knowledge.

Owen had been suspiciously silent throughout the flight. He had his hand resting on top of Curt’s, rubbing small circles into it with his thumb.

Owen opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it, then opened it again, closed it. Finally, he spoke.

“Are you sure you want to do this? We can just go off the grid when we get there. Just find a nice cabin up in Canada, live out our days there. I’m more than happy to go with you on this, but I need to know that you aren’t just doing this for me. You know these people. You care about them. I don’t. I just- I just want to make sure you’re doing this for you, not for me.”

Curt squeezed Owen’s hand before turning to face him. “I want to do this. These people hurt me, abandoned me, left me to die in a warehouse in Moscow. They didn’t send any search parties, none that got even close to us, anyway. They were waiting for an opportunity to kill us off, and I want to repay the favor. 

“Let’s continue our streak of beating up homophobes, eh?” He got a chuckle from Owen out of that. 

“Whatever you say, my love.”

Curt would never understand how, after all this time, Owen could still make him feel butterflies. He brushed a lock of hair out of Owen’s face before kissing his hand softly.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting himself drift. Life was going well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by the hours i’ve spent in the seatac atrium at 2 am while sipping a latte.... prime liminal space. i love it so much. please look it up it’s truly a great time  
> listened to no one else from great comet and i’ll be here from wild party and best of wives and best of women and that would be enough from hamilton while writing this one... just some soft devotion and love because this ones soft  
> next chapter is the big one!!! lots of shit going down!! someone will get shot!!!!!   
> comments and kudos are appreciated so much... if you tell me your favorite part i will hold your hand tenderly   
> tysm for reading 💖

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings:  
> Homophobia, homophobic slurs, internalized homophobia, alcoholism, suicidal ideation maybe?
> 
> Thanks 4 reading!! This is my very first fic on ao3 and my first fic i wrote that i actually like so please leave feedback!! Comments and kudos are so much appreciated :)


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